


Crafty Camboys

by Kitra13, SineadRivka



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Boston, Camboy Keith (Voltron), Camboy Lance (Voltron), College Student Keith (Voltron), College Student Lance (Voltron), Explicit will be added in a second story, F/M, Good BDSM Etiquette, Good Lotor (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Leather Kink, Light BDSM, Location: Boston, M/M, MMJ usage, Mild Kink, Non-Explicit, PTSD aftercare, Platonic BDSM, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, camboy au, medical cannabis use, more like Chaotic Good Lotor, musical lance, sappy Allura/Lotor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-01-23 09:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18547171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitra13/pseuds/Kitra13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SineadRivka/pseuds/SineadRivka
Summary: Shiro let his face drop into his hands. “Pidge, why do you say things like that?”“What, that you have the most active left hand in the greater Boston area thanks to BlueEyesRedDragon and Akira Orion? Shiro, you need a boyfriend is what you need. One with a sex drive of a demigod. Or two boyfriends. You don’t need a Snickers, you need a Twix!”Shiro, retired astronaut, NASA consultant, current craft store owner, has had a pretty shitty Tuesday. PTSD has been awful, his little "sister" has been an absolute terror, and he finds out that he missed a potential commission client for his custom leather bondage-wear. And it's just barely lunchtime. Thank the stars for friends like Allura and Lotor who know just the remedy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a brainchild of myself and Kitra, and holy crap but it's turned into A Thing. I'm awful at writing more than a few lines of smut, and I generally like writing sensual things over sexual, while she's heaps and tons better about that than I am. There'll be a companion story uploaded for those scenes.
> 
>  ** _IMPORTANT NOTE:_**  
>  This was written not only based off of my PTSD symptoms, but also while I was in a bad PTSD episode. Please read with caution if you are prone to being triggered by emotionally intense material and practice good self care. This story will also involve talk of the leather community, kink community, medical cannabis usage, and various other adult-orientated material, which is why we've rated this M. More tags will be added as the chapters progress.

Shirogane Takashi had lived a life that was equal parts amazing and equal parts bullshit insane. He had been a damn fine Navy fighter pilot, then got into NASA as the youngest astronaut, and had piloted the fastest shuttle they had created, breaking several records and creating new ones. Following that mission came two entirely-according-to-plan missions.

Shiro should have listened to the superstitious advice of his grandmother and not piloted a fourth mission. She could speak perfect English, but only ever used the language outside of the home environment. She had given him the warning to avoid the fourth flight, using a very old and little-used word for the number: _shi. Shi_ also meant death.

Very shortly into the flight aimed at viewing the asteroid belt, he had an onboard crew medical emergency that caused him to make a dangerous slingshot maneuver around Mars and home to Earth. This didn’t go without sacrifice, however. His right arm had to be amputated because of an injury made unbelievably worse by space radiation. Regardless, the pilot was a hero when he got home, and had been paid in massive settlements.

Now finally out of the spotlight again, he was able to focus on the second passion of his life, his craft store. And Shiro’s first passion? Shiro made custom top-shelf leather kink restraints and harnesses, many pieces of which were one of a kind and utilized in professional videos as the personal gear of the individual who commissioned his talents.

After two years of operating the store, Shiro was glad that he had gotten himself a location close to several universities. Why? Because college kids _love_ wasting money on crafting supplies for some _ungodly_ reason. It was a normal Thursday. Matt, being the early riser that he was, was the store opener while Shiro would come in around lunchtime to give Matt a break, then close the store sometime after ten at night, depending upon if he had a scheduled client coming in for special orders.

So today, he was in early thanks to good luck with the MBTA cooperating and the nice weather. Walking into the store, he waved to Katie, who was working on packing up an online order at her desk. She grunted in reply and jerked her chin towards the back of the store, indicating that Matt was in the office. Slipping in and dropping his bag down under his desk, Shiro held his prosthetic hand up for Matt to see. “I think we need to reevaluate some of the grippy surfaces.”

“Grippy surfaces . . . do you hear yourself, Shiro?”

“Not today, Matt. I dropped coffee on myself; the grip-strength was good, but look here.” He pointed at a few spots where the metal had worn through the thin rubbery pads on his fingertips. The wear pattern was abundantly clear, but the lack of durability of the materials was disappointing.

“Huh. I thought this would have lasted more than a month with the tests we ran. When we have a moment, I’d like to replace the grips with something else and compare them against the test results.” Matt stared at Shiro’s hand for a long moment. He would be sending off a rather snarky reply to the company that supplied the material with how fast it broke down against what they _said_ it would take to break it down. They’d had better luck with the original silicone pads that he had originally used. These were done in within three months. “I’ll talk to my buddy at WPI to see if he has any other ideas outside of going back to silicone.”

“Wait, the crazy dude?”

“Yeah, because my MIT buddy got roped into helping some professor with administering finals in some of the engineering labs.” Matt tapped his pen against the metal palm. “We need a thin, durable material that won’t get caught in the mechanical workings, won’t melt, won’t fold, won’t—”

Shiro backed up, holding both hands up. “No, no, you’re not dragging me into this discussion again, because then it’ll get Katie going on the programming again, and I really can’t do that today. I trust you to find a material that’ll work. I’m going next door and getting my lunch. Do you want me to bring you back something?”

Matt grinned broadly. “Tell Hunk that he owes me. He knows what to make.”

Shiro blinked at his friend. “Why do I feel like the messenger in a bad mafia movie?”

“Oh my god, Shiro, I’m _Irish_. I’d be part of the _mob_. Get your organized crime straightened out.”

“Uh-huh. See you in thirty, Matt.”

“Can you buy Pidge something? I’ll pay you back.”

“Her usual?”

“Yeah.”

“I got it.” Shiro walked out of his store and into a gaggle of college kids on their way to the East’s Bar as well. Just his luck. He was swept in among the lot of them, waving to Coran as he made his way around to the reserved seating at the far end of the old wall bar.

College kids sometimes inspired Shiro. But only sometimes. He was jaded, bitter now, but they reminded him of the hope he once had before the world stripped it from him. He took on the Kerberos mission, left atmo not knowing if his boyfriend was going to be with him when he returned. He came back broken, closer to death than his crewmates had come even during their medical emergency, and woke up without an arm, without his boyfriend of three years, and without knowing the status of any of his crew. In return, he got a shiny case of PTSD, an expectancy to lose his income, his health insurance, his life, everything.

That’s what normally happened in the real world.

But he woke up to see his commanding officer on the mission mid-sentence in a heated argument with someone that was trying to back out the door. “—been through enough! You get your ass back to Iverson and tell that son-of-a-bitch that if he pulls Shiro off of payroll when _his mind is still his greatest asset_ and that _not having both arms is discrimination_ and that he can sit and spin on my least-favorite cacti if he thinks that _I’m_ going to let _my pilot_ get canned for _no_ fucking good reason at all!”

Samuel Holt had saved Shiro’s life that day.

And the Holt family continued to save his life. When he was discharged from the hospital, they had him move in with them and helped him get back on his feet. When Katie got accepted to MIT at fifteen and couldn’t live on her own in the dorms, Shiro went with her and they rented an apartment in Arlington. Shiro was still paid very handsomely by NASA to be on-call for whenever they needed him. Once word got into the community that he wasn’t under a non-competition agreement, he became a consultant for a myriad of projects.Colleges and companies hired him as a guest speaker when he had the free time to do it. Which he claimed was rare. He hated talking in front of crowds, but was all right at it.

He didn’t want to be seen as _inspirational_ , though. He only wanted to live his life and be seen as normal. Despite that he _knew_ that he’d never be “normal” again.

But when he had found the old craft store up for sale, he jumped on it. Spent a _hefty_ chunk of his settlement (but not enough to even make an actual dent goddamnit), and then asked Matt if he wanted to move to Boston, offering a fifty-fifty ownership of the shop. Matt had driven up the next week, crashed on Shiro and Katie’s couch for two weeks, and had a tutoring positions at three different universities in the area and an adjunct teaching position at a fourth within a month. He had handed a check over for half the amount that Shiro had spent, saying that if he was going to be co-owner, he couldn’t let Shiro take the financial hit on his own. And he still opened the store for Shiro, and _loved_ being this busy.

Catching his mind from its wandering, sighing at the fact that he hadn’t been able to recapture the revolving door of his memories in time, he looked up guiltily at Hunk, who had been standing in from of him for no few minutes. Long enough that the bar was quiet.

Fucking college brats were staring at him and his arm again. Shiro resisted the urge to cover his metal hand with his flesh-and-blood one.

Hunk put his coffee down in front of him, handle facing to Shiro’s left, smiling and reaching his right hand out to shake hands. “Been a few days, old soldier. What’s brought you to sashay my way?”

“Oh my God, I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong that is.” Shiro burst into helpless giggles, putting his prosthetic into Hunk’s hand. He watched as the big engineer put one of those yellow dish gloves that you find in the dollar aisle over his hand and patted the back of it twice. It covered the metal perfectly, and was thin enough to not interfere with Shiro’s motions. “What? What is this?”

“Pidge may have sent me a video of her face as you ranted in the background this morning.”

That pricked at Shiro’s temper, but he stifled it down a bit. “Wow. I was going to be nice and buy her lunch, too. Also, Matt says you owe him.”

Hunk looked unimpressed. “He can come order his steak tips himself; he’s going to get a steak bomb.” Turning to eyeball the college kids, Hunk waited until at least one of them looked away. “All of you kids mind your own damn business.”

“Thank you for your service!” one young soul called from their anonymity behind a larger friend.

Shiro finished the sip of surprisingly-good bar coffee, put the mug down slowly, and then just as slowly, turned to pin the gaggle with a piercing glare. He knew that his scars were far more visible and intimidating when he stared head-on at someone. “Do you really know what service I did? Do you know what I was paid in return for my ‘service’?”

“Shiro,” Hunk warned softly. “They’re _kids_. College kids.”

“Then they’re teachable, isn’t that right?” He fixed each of the five young adults with his stare, white fringe falling free of his ponytail. “Trauma fucks people up, whether you can see the wounds or not. It’s rude to stare at someone with a medical device, and that includes service dogs. Your parents should have taught all of you some better manners. And don’t thank me for my service; if you really want to thank me, take my place and enlist. Now fuck off back to bitching about your professors and let me drink my first coffee of the day.”

The door opened into the tense silence and a goddess swept in, long and curly white-blonde hair bouncing behind her. “Shiro!”

He couldn’t help it; his face lit up when he saw the woman before him. “Allura!” Opening his arms wide, he barely kept himself upright on the stool at the force of her embrace. Even though he was still mad at the college kids, he wasn’t about to take it out on one of his closest friends. “I wasn’t expecting to see you for another two weeks!”

“My trip was cancelled; my poor boy is _so_ distraught that we won’t be able to make it to Germany’s castles this year.” She righted him easily, scarily strong for her willowy stature, and smooshed his face between her hands. “You were scaring children again, weren’t you.”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Good. Some social pruning lessons must be delivered publicly.” She pulled his hair out against his protests, combing her fingers through the painfully-straight salt and pepper strands as Hunk wrote down their usual orders and hustled back to the kitchen. Allura continued smoothing the shoulder-length hair out. “I tried texting you, but I think you left your phone in the store.”

“Yeah.” His eyes drifted shut of their own accord, shoulders dropping as Allura pulled his hair back first in a “Viking braid,” and then into a simple ponytail again. They were silent for a long while as Shiro dragged himself back from his own rough edges. “Sorry.”

Her voice lowered as she sat with her back to the students, giving Shiro privacy to speak to her without turning his own back to them. “You’re not sleeping well again.”

“It’s May; I never sleep well around this time of year anyway.”

“Are you going to be spending any time with the Holts or with myself or Uncle Coran for your forced summer vacation this year?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“You don’t have to decide until the last minute, if you’d like. You know you can show up anytime.”

“I know.”

Shay, the only waitress on at this hour and Hunk’s fiance, poured another coffee for Shiro and set down a chocolate malt for Allura, who cooed at it before digging in. “Hi, Shiro. Will my order be ready soon?”

Shiro grinned broadly. “I finished your order last night.” One of the benefits of insomnia was that he could just zone out while completing orders.

Shay, calm and composed Shay, did a victory dance with the hot coffee carafe in one hand all the way back to put it down before calling to Hunk, “Shiro finished my order!”

Something big dropped with a clatter.

Coran poked his head out of the business office for a moment, saw Shiro and Allura smothering their laughter, and decided he didn’t want to know.

Shiro’s entire order was ready before the college kids had gotten their appetizers, so he and Allura walked back to the shop, talking about upcoming events. Matt met him just inside the door with a very smug expression. Katie looked on from her corner, an evil grin spreading across the young genius’ face.

Shiro looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?”

Matt drew in a breath, then sighed and spread his hands. “So I know you watch camboys.”

Like that was news anymore? Shiro thumbed towards Allura in warning that Matt had better watch his next words very carefully. “Yeah? What else do you expect single gay men like me to do at two am?”

“I think, and Pidge confirmed it, that one of them just came in.”

“You _think_ , but Pidge _confirmed_ it? Jesus, you two. How do either of you know my viewing history?!”

“It’s BlueEyesRedDragon,” Pidge said, gloating. “I’d know that face anywhere.”

“Wait, he came _here_?” Allura asked quietly, her voice intense and concentrated. “Out of all places, he came _here_?”

“ _You_ know him?” Shiro squeaked. He had been following BlueEyesRedDragon for months, and had a mid-tier subscription to him and a few others. He was mildly obsessed, because between BlueEyes and Akira Orion, even his bad nights were tolerable. Yeah, he paid them to watch them get off and have access to their catalogues, but his two favorites were oddly welcoming to their viewers. They were part of a very small network of camshow content creators that would refer viewers to their colleagues when they needed a night off or had plans. They also created voice-overs, speaking as characters from favorite shows saying some X-rated things some days, offering anxiety meditations. So far as he knew, BlueEyes wasn’t _supposed_ to be getting a day off for his upcoming streaming schedule, but had been saying that he had a surprise heading his viewers’ way.

Allura nodded. “He’s one of those cousins-by-marriage a few times removed, so just _barely_ family but not by blood by any stretch of the imagination. He was in here? Are you sure it was him?”

“Very sure,” Katie replied, leaning over the back of her chair. Something about her grin made Shiro very uncomfortable, but hey, that was his life right now. He was neurodivergent thanks to his experiences and some days, _everyone_ was out to get him. That's what his brain told him, and sometimes, it took up too much mental energy to do more than just try to keep moving despite the internal monologue of screaming gibberish.

Matt grinned as well. “Yeah. Said he was ‘following a lead,’ but would say what he was looking for. I think that he was after The Closet? But I don’t watch camboys, so I don’t know what he could have been in here for. He didn’t seem like your usual clientele.”

The Closet was literally what it sounded like. It was a closet that stored Shiro’s stock kink pieces that didn’t yet have owners. These were harnesses and cuffs and stiff leather paddles and anything that he could think of. These were the pieces that he could create half-asleep and have on hand if someone new wanted a new toy for their Scenes, but weren’t sure that they wanted to take the dive into a commissioned piece. Kinksters would come in to meet him by word of mouth, and often would leave with a piece or two with an order placed for a custom piece.

“Damn,” Shiro whispered, sighing. He was resigned that once again, he brushed against greatness. Just like his failed flight beyond Mars. “I could have met him.”

The door opened, old bells tinkling as Allura patted Shiro’s shoulder.

“Fanboy,” Katie called, voice laughing. “If you hadn’t stayed at East’s so long, you would have met your number-two spank bank content creator. Oh, _BlueEyesRedDragon_ , you’re so _suave_ and _sexy_!”

“Katie! _Katie, customers!_ ” Matt hissed, eyes wide. She couldn’t see the door, and often ignored the bells because she really loved the part of Bostonian culture that was all about speaking your mind and not caring who may overhear your opinion. She was blissfully ignorant that Bostonians would often judge their audience pretty carefully to see just how rude they could be and still get away with it. She’d learn. One day. Shiro hoped.

Shiro let his face drop into his hands. “Pidge, why do you say things like that?”

“What, that you have the most active left hand in the greater Boston area thanks to BlueEyesRedDragon and Akira Orion? Shiro, you need a boyfriend is what you need. One with a sex drive of a demigod. Or two boyfriends. You don’t need a Snickers, you need a _Twix_!”

“I need a boyfriend, _even a single one you little gremlin_ , like I need my left leg taken off at the knee,” he replied, already on edge from a shitty morning followed by a shitty time at East’s, and finding out that he missed a potential client for the _real_ money that came into the store. He could feel the fog of an incoming freight train of an anxiety attack, and scratched at the back of his neck to provide some external stimuli to keep himself from hitting full-blown dissociation. “Katie, you’re a sister to me, but I will cut your hours if you don’t knock this shit off. My personal life isn’t on the table for discussion until _after_ I start drinking, which will always be _off-hours_. I’m _not_ okay right now, today has been awful, _and thank you so fucking much_ for sending that video to Hunk by the way because clearly, I needed non-consensual humiliation on _top_ of almost dropping coffee on my goddamned crotch.”

“You _what_?! I thought you were playing it up! I didn’t know it was that close to your goods!”

Shiro threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. _Fine._ Finish the online orders for today, then go home. I’ll handle the shop after Matt’s done. And never say ‘goods’ around me again in relation to my own dick. Jesus.” He began stalking towards his private office.

“Shiro—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Katie. I _really_ don’t. Not after today. I’m going to be working on custom orders until Matt goes home. Make sure you’re done by then and email me your hours. I know you have finals to finish studying for.”

“Wait. You wouldn’t be the same Shiro that owns Black Lion Customs, would you?” That voice. Shiro stumbled to a halt, looked over his shoulder, and saw the lanky, poised teen grinning at him with a hand on his hip and a smile on his face. It was like staring at the grand reveal of a masterpiece, golden light coming in through the windows, a particular god-ray adding the perfect amount of backlight against the dark hair to make it halo _just right_. Shiro knew this young man. The tanned young adult’s voice dropped into a smoother, darker tone. “Did I hear that you’re _also_ a viewer as well as being extremely talented with your hands?”

Shiro’s brain stopped. Blue screened. Just dead. D-E-D.

Matt sighed. “Fuck.”

Allura glared at her cousin, then sighed. “It would have been _nice_ if you let me know you were going to come harass my friends, you inconsiderate turd.”

“What can I say? I like to make an entrance.”

“Hey, Lance. Yeah, you do. Drama queen.”

“Hi, Pidge. How come you didn’t tell me you lived with a Japanese god that makes kink gear? You should have set me up with him sooner, but I had to find out that he’s the same dude that makes Allura’s gear through _her_? Really? Are you _that_ entirely blind to male physical aesthetics?”

“I’m a lesbian, you dithering moron.”

Suddenly able to burst into motion, Shiro turned, flipped Pidge the bird with his right hand, growled at seeing the dish-glove still on it, ripped the glove off, and hummed it with stunning accuracy at Katie, nailing her in the face and wiping the grin off of it. He wasn't sure how he had frisbee’d that so accurately, but was too fucking gone to care.

And the survivor stalked into his office, slammed the door, and deadbolted it. Sitting back against the sturdy hardwood, he let his mind come apart at the seams, mental and emotional pain hissing along synapses as the anxiety attack he had tried to stall out came and hit him full-force. Tears began streaming down his face, and he felt even more ashamed of the fact that he couldn’t even keep his damn _temper_ under control anymore.

Yeah. “Shiro the hero,” all right. That was him.

Some hero.

Some _fucking_ hero.

At least he could cry silently today.


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro didn’t know how long he had been staring at the far wall when his brain finally decided to let him go from the anxiety attack. He didn’t even know what had drawn him out. Shit like that just seemed to _happen_ with him, and he really didn’t know how to draw himself out of the dissociative stupor. Sighing, he let his head fall back against the door, hearing it cause a hollow thud and a pause in the noise.

And then it started up again.

A guitar?

He stared up at the ceiling, listening with intent this time. Music. 

Mindfulness, his therapist told him. He was _mindfully_ listening, taking the time to really let himself sink into exploring the sounds.

Then the guitar stopped, someone muttered something, there was a rustle of sheets, and the guitar started up again, soft and gentle in an otherwise-silent store. Shiro didn’t know anyone who played the guitar, not like this. Matt played electric guitar, but this was delicate. Soft. Melodic in a way that felt like water bouncing over stones in a playful brook. It was _art_.

He stretched his left arm, then both his legs, and began the process of picking himself up off of the floor. This was always an adventure. He never knew which parts of him were going to end up numb. Today’s winner: a patch about five inches around centering around his tailbone. Fun.

The guitar stopped again, more shuffling, then started up again, this time just . . . off to one side of the door? Someone had been sitting against the door to play? Why?

How long did the attack take this time? He didn’t remember seeing the time that he slammed the door shut. Rubbing salt and a few stubborn tears from his cheeks, Shiro opened the door and blinked around. Matt had closed the shop. Katie was gone. Guitar?

He looked down to his right, and BlueEyes was blinking up at him, still working on whatever it was he was working on, but blushed and looked away. 

BlueEyes _never_ blushed. Ever.

Shiro blushed, not knowing what to say or do.

“Two hours, fifteen minutes.”

“Huh? Oh.” He sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “Allura. Thank you. Fuck, this was a bad one.”

She hefted a quilt up and around his shoulders, wrapping him up and settling him in a chair next to BlueEyes, who paused again, stared out into nothingness while his right index finger drifted through the air, leaned down, shuffled through his notes, made a change to something, then continued on. Allura distracted Shiro from saying anything. “Katie felt awful about what she did, and I suggested that she and Matt really take some time away from the store and to get back home to regroup. She’ll be apologizing to you soon, and probably with food.”

“Yeah. she’s still a kid, and I still forget that when it’s . . . when I . . .”

“When you have to battle both external and internal threats to your peace of mind,” BlueEyes said softly, sitting back and starting the song over again from the beginning. “I get that. I’m sorry for my part in throwing off your balance.”

“I think that of all the people I’ve been around today, you, Allura, Hunk, and Shay have been the least-abrasive and _you_ don’t even know me.”

“Yeah, but I came in thinking that you were a very, _very_ different personality, and kinda tried to turn the tone of the situation very sexual very quickly, which works for me sometimes. Other times, I feel like an ass for being so forward. Like today. I’m Lance, by the way. Lance Espinosa-McClain.”

“Oh. Shirogane.”

“Is it okay to call you Shiro?”

“Everyone does, so sure.”

“That’s not _exactly_ what I asked.”

Shiro blinked. Then he looked up from the floor to see those piercing blue eyes staring into his own. And he couldn’t read the gaze, the expression, nothing. His breath left him in a soft sigh. “I like being called Shiro. My given name . . . I don’t like many people calling me that because it feels too personal, too intimate. It’s not off the table, but if you ever want to call me by it, then I expect the situation to call for its usage.”

“Names are power. I won't press.” Lance nodded, smiling briefly before organizing everything in front of him. “I’m still sorry that I fucked with your head a bit, dude. Can I treat you to dinner?”

“Me?” Shiro laughed. “Why would you bother yourself with _me_? _You’re_ the celebrity here. I’m just a shopkeeper.”

“Just a . . . honey, _no_ , you’re not ‘just’ a business owner. You’re a million things to a million people, some of whom who will quite literally grovel at my feet for the opportunity to speak to you. You’re a consultant in fields I can’t make heads or tails out of. You’re an artisan _and_ an authority in a field that Lance has been _up my ass_ about,” Allura shot in before Lance could say otherwise. “Also, he didn’t mention that I’d be the one footing the bill.”

“Princess,” Shiro whined softly, hating that part of himself that was a child about these things. He _hated_ it that she could easily take care of any of their friends without feeling any financial strain.

“I have chosen the venue. You will approve.”

“Fuck, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Yes, you do,” Lance replied earnestly. “You really do. You _always_ have the choice, Shiro.”

Something about the phrasing made the older man look up at the young man whose personality (and whose dick, let’s be real), had garnered the attention of thousands of people every night. Consent. Lance was talking about _consent_. “You’re a top-heavy switch, aren’t you.”

The younger man’s eyes bugged before he stared at Allura. “You weren’t fucking joking; he’s _good_.”

Snorting a half-laugh, Shiro shook his head. “I’m perceptive because of my background and training and years of using those skills. The way you emphasize certain things only adds up to the conclusion that you’re closer to a top than a bottom most of the time. And you _teach_ about this at events, don’t you?”

“Fuck, you’re really good. Yeah, I teach seminars in Miami clubs, primarily. Like you said, I’m a switch, but I don’t trust many people to top me. Allura will occasionally, but never on camera. I’m negotiating with a very close partner who tops me about some sessions with them for a Patreon special tier, but that’s all depending on a lot of factors. Including the factor of who I’m interested in. Like you.”

Shiro felt his face fall, then flush. Lance looked _very_ upset that he had upset Shiro and he started trying to backpedal, but none of his words came out right and he ended up groaning and letting his head fall into his hands.

Allura came to their rescue. “All right, my disaster queers, stand up. We’re going to an early dinner. Shiro, I’m footing today’s overhead for the store, don’t argue. Matt already put up a sign that you’ll be back for regular hours tomorrow. Lance, pack up. _Quickly._ ”

“You’re almost as terrifying as my mother, you know that? _Almost._ ”

“I can throw a _chancla_ just as accurately as she can. Don't forget you _also_ met my Dominican grandmother.”

“Your grandmother terrifies me. And just where do you think my sharpshooter skills came from?”

“Certainly not by your own hand.”

“Clever innuendo, I’ll give you a point for that. I haven’t needed a tutor on _shooting_ since I was a freshman in _high school_.”

“Oh? When do you graduate?”

“Ha-ha. Maybe my _humor_ is still juvenile, sure, but at least I’m legal and _dee-tee-eff_.”

“Did you seriously emphasize the acronym for ‘down to fuck?’ You plebe.”

Wheezing into a laugh, Shiro folded the quilt and put it back on the chair he usually sits in while waiting for the last few college brats to make a decision about their purchases. “Okay, okay. I’ll bite. Allura, where’s dinner?”

“My place. My slave has prepared for us, and I’m ordering Chinese food.”

Shiro almost started crying again, and Lance looked like he wanted to embrace him, or fix something, or take someone out or just start playing the guitar again—

Allura curled him against her shoulder, locking her arms around his shoulders. “I promise you that it’s only one other new person, and you can spend the night if you need the space from Katie. You two haven’t had much time alone from each other this semester with all her online courses.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

“You know, I _could_ turn this into a sleepover.”

“Allura—”

“I will. I am!” She pulled her phone out, hitting one name and waiting for it to pick up. “Darling! Change of plans!”

_“Princess! You always call with good news. Might this be a change from dinner and a movie to a sleepover party?”_

“Yes, my little Prince, it is! I’m holding Shiro hostage but I might just let him go if he pays with a snuggle on the couch like the cuddly bear he is. Please contact Keith and let him know the change of plans.”

“May all the minor gods take me now. You two are so damn _sappy_.” Shiro paused. “Who’s Keith?”

Allura smiled. “Lance, don't tell him. Now _boy_ , do be a doll and _don’t_ tell Keith who is coming to dinner.”

Lotor’s rumble of acknowledgement always sent shivers down Shiro’s spine. It was the noise not unlike a large cat who behaves only because they _want_ to. Lance's eyebrows rose and he slid his phone back into his pocket. Shiro was too tired to really give a shit at this point so he just went along, shouldering his backpack and locking and alarming the store.

~*~

Allura was rich.

Allow me to clarify.

Allura was _filthy_ rich. The type of rich where it was almost useless.

She was only daughter of two separately wealthy people who, astonishingly, married for love. Allura was their sole inheritor. While they ran for elected government positions, she studied dance and martial arts while she went to a private school. Her father was well on his way for making a bid at Presidency, but Allura felt a greater focus and empathy with local governments, and would try to find ways to keep involved up to the state level. Outside of that? She owned a very large dance studio with three mirror-lined teaching halls. One large classroom with exposed metal beams for the larger group classes that could fit up to twenty tall adults with very long reaches, or up to forty children. She was still trying to find an aerial silks teacher that didn’t also have an intense performing schedule. There was a room about a third of the main hall’s size, and it’s twin held six polished poles for exotic dance classes. After hours on the weeknights, she would take over the space for private lessons for promising young athletes.

Now, Allura was purchasing her parents’ old Back Bay townhouse from them using her own wealth. She had accumulated her own money through a shrewd business sense and charging very rich men and women the privilege to grind their faces into her hardwood studio floors. And by playing stocks. But mostly the kink payed the bills for the studio and for the townhouse. All along, she offered dance scholarships to inner city youth at risk, and with the increase in wealth came the increase in class sizes and staff on payroll.

Those kinky individuals were her only weekend clients at the studio. 

Princess Allura was one of Boston's three premiere dominatrixes. And she was _not_ quiet about this aspect of her life. She could afford to be. She had faced legal battles accusing her of impropriety, and freely showed the court and the public the vast difference between her business as a studio owner and her private pursuits. Anyone could watch a weekday class or private lesson. Shades were up, anyone could look in. There was always a parent, a sibling, or another student attending the advanced private lessons, and the main studio was under 24/7 video surveillance. She left the studio doors unlocked, since these were technically open hours. She had security systems in place to watch the doors, windows, and public properties. For her students who were homeschooled or privately-tutored while they focused on their dance career, she held those classes during normal school hours.

She showed the difference with a tour of her facilities, showing how she protects her adult clients’ privacy. There was a path that was under encrypted surveillance, and she insisted upon off-site parking so that their vehicle wasn’t caught on camera for their sake. The door that they entered through didn’t have a handle on the outside, but it opened easily from the inside, and there was both a peephole and video surveillance showing who was at the door. Once they were allowed in, they were given a mask to wear if they wanted to keep their identity a secret. The path through the building had doors that could only be opened with a physical key accompanied by a key fob containing an RFID tag with a frequency that was changed every 24 hours. Each door opened outwards, allowing someone a quick escape. There were lockdown rooms with panic buttons in case a client became violent. 

Pidge and Lotor were wonders at creating and stabilizing security systems. They were honestly quite scary when they combined efforts and it was no secret that Lotor was ready to snap up Pidge for his company the moment that she walked the stage.

But the most pressing detail of the security was that all was that every session was recorded under closed circuit television. If a client refused that level of accountability, Allura refused their proposals. She didn’t care if they wanted to wear a mask, a piece of gear to hide a telling tattoo, but the scene would be recorded for security purposes. If there was ever need to prove innocence or to convict someone, Allura was going to make sure that there was undeniable evidence. 

But tonight wasn't about visiting her facility. Tonight was about being folded into her home, her household, her sanctuary, and Shiro was very happy with that. He wasn't one of Allura's subs, but rather a peer in the Kink community who happened to be submissive. They would only do light scenes when not teaching together, power exchanges without any sexual aspect involved. Shiro was gay, and Allura respected that. She provided an environment where he could release some control to someone safe. Tonight was about resting, resetting himself, and Allura had decided (and Shiro had consented to it), that she was going to personally take care of one of her closest friends.

At least, that's what he thought.

Allura's slave, a very powerful man in the technology industry, answered the door to Allura's townhouse with his so-blonde-it-was-white-but-was-bleached-white hair pulled back into a messy braid that reached halfway down his back. He wore only low-slung lounge pants and a ratty band shirt, his bare feet making the floorboards creak welcomingly. “Darling! My Champion! You’ve returned to me!”

“I think you mean Allura,” Shiro replied with a grin.

“Psh. I meant you.” He eyed Shiro quickly. 

“Don’t try it today, Lotor.”

“But I _love_ carrying you!” the taller man half-whined, opening the door wider to usher Shiro in, wrapping an arm around the muscled waist and providing a warm body to his right side automatically. “You're an elegant beefcake, a beautiful bear, a—”

 _“Jesus, Allura, get him a gag!”_ a disembodied voice whined from the kitchen, vaguely familiar in some ways to Shiro. _“He talks nonstop and is useless in the kitchen!”_

“You always love raiding my liquor! Also, look who I brought back!” Allura shoved Lance around the corner and into the kitchen while Lotor held Shiro back. The new voice squeaked and the sound of a flying glomp was unmistakable. _Flying glomp, jeez, Shiro, nobody uses that term anymore._

Looking up at the brilliant man, Shiro raised an eyebrow, hearing a _loud_ reunion. Lotor leaned down, whispering, “Keith is a very, _very_ interested party.”

“In my products?” Shiro asked.

Lotor's voice stayed low, under the happy laughter tumbling down the hallway. “And the mind behind the toys. He's low-key obsessed. Reads your blog, screenshots your Instagram and sends me inarticulate keyboard-smash texts when he can screenshot a hint of your face, he waxes poetic about your muscles, and also has no idea, _no idea_ , that you are here. Or who you are. Once you're introduced, it'll _finally_ break him. I’ve wanted to do this for _months_ , but Allura refused to let me meddle.”

“You conniving bastard. Which explains why you used my old handle.”

“Mm-hm.”

_“Wait, who the hell else is here?”_

And Shiro finally recognized that voice, that wary growl.

He'd faced down death.

He could face . . . This. Whatever this was.

Maybe.

Or not.

“I might be sick.”

“One of my friends! He's kinky, and part of the local community, so don't worry about your filters.” Lotor called back. “We'll be up top for a smoke!” He had gotten Shiro up the first flight of stairs before anyone could see who was here, half-lifting Shiro until they could get to the roof deck. Shiro dropped down onto the couch, glad for the shade of the pavilion in the late-spring heat as he dropped his head back.

Lotor had been part of the civilian tech team that supported Shiro from the ground when shit hit the fan. The man had still been an intern, but able to organize people with an almost-supernatural talent. His voice had kept Shiro sane and calm during the worst of the panic, and a genuine friendship had grown between them over the harrowing ten days it took to return home. They hadn’t met in person until after Shiro had been discharged from the hospital.

“Talk to me, Shiro.”

Those were the first words that Shiro had ever heard Lotor say. Back in the chaos of a control room, those words had cut across arguing voices, silencing them with the ease of his command. Shiro had gained that effect with those aboard the _Kerberos_ when they had started to panic about the not-nearly-calculated-enough slingshot maneuver he was going to perform around Mars. Hearing someone else take command and give him a voice to cling to at his most despondent moments, it had helped him get through the mission. Lotor had slept in the control room to be available whenever Shiro called.

“Bad PTSD today. Just overall a shitty day.” Shiro fell into silence as he watched Lotor roll a pair of filtered joints, fighting back tears because it hit him so strongly how well this man knew him and how much Lotor cared. He knew that Shiro couldn’t roll to save his life, but it was the easiest form of smoking. He took the offered joint, huffing an amused breath of air that was too dry to be a laugh, then leaned closer for Lotor to light it for him. They both ignored the fat tears that escaped Shiro’s liquid grey eyes. 

Lighting his own, Lotor admitted, “I’m sorry for forcing you to meet new people and have a sleepover; I know that you don’t always like being around strangers on high-anxiety days. I may have completely misunderstood what you needed today. If you want to go home, I’ll drive you there. I just figured that mixing you and the Pigeon again so soon after she triggered an anxiety attack wasn’t the wisest idea today.”

“Just when I was starting to doubt your mind-reading capabilities—”

“That’s my mother, and you know it.”

“She fucking scares me.”

“She scares _my father_.”

Shiro lifted an eyebrow and took a hit to that noise, then stopped mid-motion to pull the joint out of his mouth and stare at Lotor. “It’s been almost five years since my arm was amputated. I think my brain is gearing up for the anniversary dates.”

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Lotor hissed, facepalming and sighing. “I have that in at least _three_ calendars, too.”

Shiro chuckled. “Well, you’ve also had a busy year. You’re preparing to take over whenever your dad finally fucking retires, which will be _never_ by the way, you’re still developing and writing coding for all this new tech that somehow _works_ , and then, _then_ , you and Allura started cohabitating full-time, _and_ that’s not even including all your extracurriculars.” Shiro put his joint down and stripped his shirt off, working on the straps that kept his prosthetic on. “Help—”

Smooth hands were already there, anticipating this, and Lotor smiled softly, the look still somehow rogueish with the hanging tube of burning plant material. “Always.”

Ten minutes later had both men shirtless and basking in the afternoon sunlight, the barest of embers hanging into the ends of filters. Lotor had tossed an extra set of sunglasses to Shiro, who realized that he should probably get his own pair of Ray-Bans. They were classy. Shiro’s arm was carefully protected from the sunlight that they sprawled in, wrapped in his shirt and under the pavilion. 

Mind finally assisted into a quiet, softer place, Shiro whispered, “I _needed_ this.”

“Glad I could help.”

“Thank you.”

“Y’welcome.”

“Oh. Thank you _both_.”

That was that voice that Shiro knew and was scared to confirm the identity of. But his head popped up either way, and he blinked owlishly behind dark lenses at none other than Akira Orion, one of the current top-ten camboys.

And that motherfucker was staring right at _him_.

“Oh, shit, my scars.” Shiro’s head flopped back and he sighed. “I’ll cover them up.”

“Nooo,” another voice whined softly from behind Akira. Or was it really Keith? Either way. But that whine was from Lance.

Lance, who joined them shirtless on the third and final lounge chair. “Guess you’ll have to share with me, Keefie!”

“Why do I not hate you?” Keith laughed. He walked over, tossing an icy water bottle onto Lotor’s bare stomach, making the man shriek and flail. “But dude, I don’t know _who_ you are, but goddamn never cover up any of what the gods sculpted you into. Fuck.”

Shiro’s face was entirely red at this time, and Lance took pity on him, laughing softly and punching at his right shoulder, unafraid of how that arm just . . . _stopped_ not much farther below. “Keith’s had about two strong drinks and he’s a total flirt once he’s tipsy. I’ll keep you safe from him, and he’ll enjoy me octopusing him to death.”

“I said that _one time_ you goddamn—”

And Shiro’s snickers stopped Keith dead and he whined. “Oh, fuck me but he’s pretty when he smiles.”

Lotor was grinning. He poked at Shiro, who sat up and finished off his joint, flicking the filter into the bucket with a hiss of victory. “Fine, fucking introduce us, Lotor.”

“This is Akira Orion,” Lotor started.

“Keith Kogane,” the young man added. “Since you folks are on legal-name terms with each other. Lotor, tell me, who is this? Lance keeps grinning like he knows something amazing.”

“Keith, this is Shiro, owner of Black Lion Customs.”

And Shiro saw this man’s mind just blank out. “Oh, goddammit, Lotor, you broke him.” He blushed. “It’s nothing _that_ special.”

“Oh, it _is_. I don’t wear _any_ amateur’s leather hoods. Not with _this_ hair.”

Shiro locked eyes with Keith, waiting the moment through. And then it broke. 

“Okay, how the _fuck_ do you make all that gear with only one arm?” And he smacked his own hand over his mouth and groaned, wincing. “Fuck. I don't have tact. I know. I'm sorry.”

Lance didn’t know what to do again, which seemed to be a new sensation for him. Lotor had seen this before and he finished off his own joint, standing to toss the filter into the bucket as he picked up Shiro’s arm and their shirts. And Shiro? He was smiling like someone had just given him the most thoughtful gift. “Honesty and honest curiosity is never rude for me. I have some process videos from a few projects ago on my phone that I can show you. I haven't had the motivation to edit videos recently.”

Lotor spun Shiro’s shirt at him, hitting him in the face. “How are you _now_ smooth and suave when I _know_ that Allura caught you and Lance being disasters?”

Laughing, Shiro pulled the sunglasses off of his face with the shirt, his hair half-falling out from the ponytail again. “You ass.”

“Oh. Takashi _Shiro_ gane.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh. Takashi _Shiro_ gane.”

Shiro’s head snapped around to stare at Keith, eyes sharpening before he drew himself back. He had been recognized before, but the soft worship in the raspy voice, naked in the softening violet depths . . . “You know me?”

“I wanted to _be_ you. So did Lance.”

“We were rivals in flight school,” Lance explained, blushing slightly. “And were flirting by insult the entire time. We both washed, but for different reasons.”

“Discipline issues for me,” Keith admitted with a chuckle.

“Naw,” Shiro and Lotor chorused. They caught each other’s gaze and broke into snickers again. Shiro shook his head. “And . . . Lance, if you don’t want to share why you aren’t a pilot, that’s okay.”

But the young man shook his head with a kind smile, tapping beside his left eye. “My hearing deteriorated. It stabilized, but it’s still awful. I should be wearing my hearing aids more often, but I’m still too vain for them sometimes, and other times, like in the subway, I don’t want to amplify any of those noises. I read lips a lot. I feel the vibrations of my guitar and I know when she's in tune or not for the few pitches I can’t hear anymore by using old tune-by-ear tricks.” He looked a little embarrassed, like he was still struggling to find it in himself to accept this new limitation.

“Shiro wears his geeky reading glasses every day,” Lotor supplied with a smile. “I’m pretty sure if either of you asked nicely, he’d wear them tonight to watch movies _since he stopped listening to me about that_.”

“I’ll wear my aids if he wears his glasses,” Lance wheezed, looking like he was about to lose his mind at just the concept of this god-in-human-form wearing _glasses of all things_.

Shiro rolled his eyes. “Blackmailing me, aren’t you, Lotor.”

Allura appeared at the rooftop door with a smile. “Everyone better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Shiro replied. “You’ve been a lifesaver today.”

“Only the best for my Champion,” she replied with a wink. “Food is still hot and I have coffee brewing for you. How do you not have the munchies?”

Shiro refrained from rolling his eyes, but only barely. “Because that’s partially a myth. I don’t get really the cerebral high unless it’s _really_ potent. Mostly because like with most medications, you really shouldn’t notice much of anything but an absence of the problem that you were trying to mitigate.” Shiro shrugged his left arm. “I know a lot of other medical marijuana patients who report similar situations. The biggest ‘tell’ that I get is that my mood is lifted.”

Keith frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Weird. I’m always that stereotype-level of baked.”

“You’re a lightweight, though,” Allura replied with a laugh. “I’m glad that today wasn’t slated for negotiations.”

“Same,” Lotor replied, leaning down to kiss her lips and rub the tip of his nose against hers. The gesture made Shiro smile.

Allura and Lotor were in a twenty-four-hour relationship. They had different levels of their relationship, ranging from Princess and her slave boy to an equality that most would consider closer to “vanilla” relationship goals. When Lotor had opened the door for them, he had been in a very submissive state of mind. But when he had noticed that Shiro was in distress, he switched gears to take charge while still deferring to Allura’s authority. The change in his vocal tone was the indication to Allura that he needed to be closer to equal footing to help take care of Shiro. 

“Do they make you want to gag, too?” Keith hissed.

Shiro nodded tightly. “Every damn day.”

“Awesome. Let’s go eat the spicy shit before we get smothered in sap,” Lance agreed.

Shiro took his arm from Lotor’s grip, used it to make a sloppy salute to the duo, and he slipped back inside while Lance snickered at the move from _Toy Story_. Shiro’s shirt fell off his shoulder halfway down the stairs, but before he could grab it, Keith had almost-absently picked it up. Almost as if he’d done it a thousand times. Shiro tried not to dwell on that.

Once back downstairs, Shiro pulled his phone out and grabbed the most recent video and started playing it before realizing which one it was.

He looked like lukewarm shit. Pale and with dark circles under his eyes, Shiro moved automatically through cutting and creating a pair of leather bracers that would lock a sub’s forearms together, leaving the hands free to grasp at the air. They wouldn't look out of place at any renaissance faire, aligning with his “In Plain Sight” product line. He put them aside and began the next project, a custom armor-grade leather posture-collar that had finally met a client’s approval, tears glistening but unshed as he tried furiously to get his left hand to grip the tools and cut while his prosthetic hand, safe from the knife’s edge, kept the leather pinned to the workstation.

Shiro forgot that moment had been recorded.

He didn’t remember that moment.

While Keith and Lance had been watching, Shiro had been getting his prosthetic strapped on again. When the moment had passed, Keith paused the video. Shiro sighed. “Well, Lance kinda witnessed part of a larger anxiety attack earlier today, so my privacy is pretty much shot. I don’t remember that at all. I dissociate pretty hard when PTSD flares up. Lights are on, nobody’s home, body’s on auto.” He indicated the video. “That’s why I started filming the late-night sessions. I made a few items while entirely dissociated that took me too many tries to recreate because I couldn’t remember what I did.”

“So you found a way to help you remember.”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus,” Keith breathed. “I thought you were legendary _before_ , but holy shit, you’re on another level _entirely_. I’m _so_ batting out of my league.”

“Same?” Lance murmured, turning one of his hearing aids over in his hands absently. He sighed, fitting it over his left ear and then followed with the right ear, adjusting them carefully before leaning on his elbows on the kitchen island.

Shiro blinked between the two of them. “Please don’t make this a contest? And please don't tease me.”

Keith look horrified. “We’d never tease you! God, I’ve been crushing on you for, like, _eight years_. Only I didn’t always know that it was _you_ I was crushing on that whole time. I didn’t connect Shiro and Shirogane. Shiro is a common enough Japanese name that I just didn't think anything of it.” He seemed to capture himself again from rambling. It was adorable to see his excitement, but Shiro also had the feeling that Keith was trying not to go all-out fanboy on him.

“And for a competition? Oh, I’d like to think we’d be able to share,” Lance purred, sliding around the island to start making up his plate. “Shiro, can I serve you? Please?”

Shiro went full crimson. “Um. I’m kinda really submissive, so no?”

“Not in a power-exchange way, sorry!” the Cuban man rushed to say, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry! I meant just getting you a plate! You’re not entirely sober enough for me to feel comfortable negotiating a scene with, either. God. Sorry. Phrasing.”

“I wouldn’t _want_ to negotiate anything right now, and not because of either of you. I’m not really in the best place today to think about more than just trying to get through the next few hours,” Shiro replied, voice honest. “But I’d appreciate a plate. Pile whatever on there. If I don’t eat it, Lotor will pick it off of my plate, the vulture.”

“How do you and Lotor know each other?” Keith asked, handing Shiro’s phone back. He leaned against the counter and waited patiently for Lance to finish assembling plates of food. “If that's okay to ask, I mean.”

Shiro smiled. “Lotor saved my sanity. He was the voice that I could hear the clearest over the radio when shit was hitting the fan. But because he’s a civilian and wisely didn’t give permission for his voice to be released with other recordings of the _Kerberos_ incident, nobody knows who really kept me calm and focused.”

“Holy. Shit. He’s the ‘anchor’ you spoke about

“Yeah. I’d been out of the hospital for about two days when he finally tracked me down and all-but-demanded to apologize for not trying harder, _of all things_.”

Lance huffed a laugh. “Yeah, but he’s just like that. I remember when Lura started talking about him, you know? I mean, I also swear he’s a lesbian in a male body with how he woos that woman. I'm pretty sure he’s either not fully straight or he's unbelievably comfortable with platonic touch.”

“Oh, you mean by courting someone with respect and desire and romantic gestures? Naw, never that. Clearly, lesbians are setting the bar too high for cis-het men,” Shiro deadpanned. “I don’t believe that level of bullshit for a moment. Anyone can woo anyone, but if you’re not willing to put the effort in, then fuck off into the sunset.” He shook his head with a sigh. “Sorry. Bitter about a few things. Those two are honestly a magnificent match, I love them, and they’ve been amazing friends to me.”

“Nah, no worries. And how _did_ you meet my dearest cousin?” Lance asked as he placed Shiro’s meal down, and instead of unintentionally putting a fork in the wrong place, held it out for Shiro to take with whichever hand he wanted to. That was pretty tactful on a day like today, and the older man smiled, appreciating the effort. He took it with his left hand, letting the prosthetic hand rest on his thigh to ease the pull on his shoulder.

“I was invited to a club that I hadn’t been to before when I moved up this way, and she was running a demo.” Shiro smirked as he paused to take a bite of some kung pao chicken, watching as Keith started loading up his own plate and Lance took the seat to Shiro’s right. The Japanese man swallowed the food with a sigh of appreciation. Allura knew _all_ the best foodie places in town. “And Lotor was her bottom. I knew within a few seconds that this wasn’t the first or even the fiftieth time that he’d submitted to her. This was the girlfriend he was gushing about to help me focus on something outside of _Kerberos_ when I was having a panic attack.”

“He didn’t know you were kinky?” Lance gasped, theatrically placing a hand over his chest. “ _She_ didn’t know you were kinky?!”

Keith was giggling. He was still a little tipsy, but he was loving that he could actually giggle without feeling like an idiot. “Oh my god, tell me how he reacted!”

“ _I_ am a courteous bastard; I waited until they were done and he was easing back into a non-exhibitionist mindset before walking up and complementing the Domme on her sub, indicating with just the right verbiage that I appreciated his value outside of the club, and was hoping to get a chance to speak with them both privately.”

“I, of course, immediately knew who he was when he joined the crowd, and was grateful that he respected my authority over Lotor,” Allura added, walking in to drop an absent kiss to Shiro’s head as she passed him to get in line for food. “Lotor and I were still dating lightly during the _Kerberos_ mission, and he couldn’t talk about what exhausted him for those ten days that it took you to get home. I thought that he would have been a top, or a switch at best, and I know how hard it is to watch someone you know and respect become dirt for the Dominant of their choice.”

Lotor draped himself over Shiro’s shoulders, head against his right cheek as he used his right arm to feed himself off of the plate in front of them. He had somehow gotten his own fork without being seen, and was happily spearing as-yet-untouched boneless ribs. “I came up out of subspace hearing his voice and almost used legal names but caught myself in time. Allura hosted us here, we all caught up, and Shiro was very happy to find out that he had family in the Boston area. Because of my line of work, I very rarely settled down in one place back then.”

“Was this when you were doing all sorts of promotional work and visiting Skunkworks?” Lance asked, one cheek chipmunked out as he spoke around his food.

“Lance! Manners!”

“No,” he replied sassily, but finished his mouthful anyway.

Huffing, still picking off of Shiro’s plate while leaning up against the man’s back, Lotor replied, “Yes, it was during that time. I had honestly only been up this way for a week and my Princess’ usual demo bottom had the flu. Thankfully, they had full-face masks that could keep my identity private, but the one I used had torn out some of my hair that night. Shiro had an order placed that very night for my first hood from him after he had the chance to inspect the problems I faced with the club’s hood.”

Allura indicated that Keith settle down to Shiro’s left, and she passed over a mug of coffee to the leatherworker. “Here. Your lifeblood.”

Conversation tapered off for a few minutes before Shiro remembered something and blushed. Lotor started giggling at the heat against his own cheek, but didn’t move away. “Oh, I know you’re thinking something _naughty_ , Shiro.”

Both camboys froze.

Allura tried not to snort a noodle, and met that goal with questionable success.

“Well, how do you expect us to have a sleepover when I know that both of those two have work to do tonight?”

“Work, he says,” Keith looked like he wanted to kiss Shiro. “ _Work_ , like--”

“I hope they _do_ work,” Allura replied with a grin. “I mean, they _did_ set up in the second guest room.”

Shiro realized he had walked into a trap. And he didn’t know how to extradite himself. If he stayed, he knew that they’d be fucking upstairs. If he left, he’d be _watching_ them fuck upstairs from his bed across town. His brain froze.

Lotor licked his ear and he _shrieked_ , shocked out of his panic and directly into laughter, shoving the lankier man away. “Dammit!”

“I’m proving a point!”

“What the fuck point is that?! You _licked my ear canal_ , Lotor!”

Lotor raised an eyebrow. “Will you let me get you that damn service dog? You were starting to phase into another anxiety attack, and this is _post_ -medication. I _know_ that you can drop the cash on the dog, but I _want_ to do this for you. And thank you for not breaking my nose for licking your ear canal.”

“Oh my god, he loves dogs,” Lance stage-whispered to Keith. “Can we keep him?”

“Only if he loves cats, too,” Keith replied. “I won’t have my Red or your Blue dishonored.”

They stared at him, and another realization hit Shiro so hard that he smiled and felt his eyes tearing up all over again. Allura and Lotor had set him up. They had set up _all three_ of them. Allura in particular must have been playing a _very_ long game for this, and as he looked up at her, he shook his head. “I can’t believe you.”

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Allura.”

Keith and Lance looked at each other, looked at him, squinted, stared at Allura, and with a half-second between them, both exclaimed, “OH!”

Lance started laughing. Keith was grinning. “You set us up, you absolute goddess.”

“You’re welcome. Eat your food, go hydrate, perform for the masses, and join us whenever you two are ready.” She smiled sweetly. “Just don’t expect Shiro to be donating tonight.”

And just like that, both young men were flushing bright and carefully not looking at anyone else in the room, continuing to eat silently.

Lotor snickered, settling in to lean against Shiro again to pull a small plate that Allura had made for him. He had already managed to eat half of Shiro’s plate, avoiding his friend’s favorites. “You three are adorable. I might just watch your stream tonight.”

“Oh my God, just shut up, _please_ ,” Keith wheezed.

~*~

Keith and Lance retreated upstairs to prepare for their evening streams. They’d set it up so to start their shows off like they normally did with some typed chat interaction, carefully not showing that they were in the same room. Most people would be watching one stream or the other, though the camboys would be utilizing a gaming streamer’s hack that would embed the other’s screen in the corner as if it was a video chat. It hadn’t been awful to implement, but had taken some troubleshooting to make sure that the frame rate was working.

But they had something very important to discuss before they had even started warming up.

“Keith--”

“I’m sorry for flirting as hard as I was--”

Lance silenced him with a kiss, holding pale hands in his tanned ones, smiling softly. “No, it’s wonderful to see you flirt with someone. It’s adorable. I love you too much to limit you.”

There it was. That delightful blush that crept across Keith’s cheeks. “Lance, oh my god.” He buried his face against Lance’s shoulder, turning his head enough that his boyfriend could read his lips. “I love you too.”

Grinning, pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead, he sighed, mood sobering. “What are we going to _do_ , though? He’s . . . I don’t know how to say this without being super awful, but this Shiro we met . . . he’s hurting _so badly_ , Keith. Seeing him crumble into an anxiety attack . . .”

“That’s why you dashed back here, grabbed your guitar, and ran back. You were doing the music thing that you do when I’m really upset.”

“Yeah. I . . . I _think_ it helped?”

“How could it _not_?” Keith wrapped his arms around Lance’s waist, leaning back just enough to be able to see his face. “Lance, can you tell me what happened? Do you think he’d mind?”

“I think he’d _say_ he wouldn’t mind, but he’d probably not want me to talk about it. Did you notice that about him earlier?”

“Eager to please.”

“Yeah. He tries to be someone for everyone. I think it’s a trauma response.” Lance had taken as many psychology and sociology courses as he could fit into his college courses with the determination to just know _more_ about the whys and hows behind behaviors. It dovetailed well with Keith’s business mindset, and they collaborated a lot outside of their individual streams when they weren’t cramming for the next test.

“He’s hurting pretty badly, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Lance sighed, hands still but thumbs rubbing circles in to Keith’s lower back. “Remember before _Kerberos_? There had been so many tabloid articles about him and his boyfriend before the flight, and a lot of magazines and online zines focused hard on their relationship. NASA’s Garrison had to appoint guards at residential checkpoints to keep the paparazzi out. And then when he came back . . . no boyfriend.”

Keith frowned, brows furrowing together in anger. “And people were trying to dig into why they split. I remember that. Wait.” He took a step back. “They never used Adam’s last name in any interviews, refused photos for privacy’s sake, and Shiro went by Shirogane back then. You don’t think . . .”

Lance dashed to his computer, pulling up the list of Garrison teachers. He stared hard at the photo that came up for Aviation Theory. “Adam Whittaker. Same graduation year as Shiro. Same areas of focus, and it looks like his career and Shiro’s paralleled until _Kerberos_.”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Keith breathed, anger roiling in his stomach. “He was on the disciplinary hearing board that got me kicked out.” Turning, he clenched his fists, drew in a few breaths, and worked through the initial surge in adrenaline and anger. “Okay. Okay. So. Adam and Shiro dated, got engaged, and then there was a split around the mission.”

“I think that it might _not_ have been Shiro’s decision,” Lance said slowly, fingers flying over the keyboard. “I’m not as good at this kind of research as Pidge is when I need her, but . . . here.” He moved out of the way of the screen, showing a photo of a young Adam at his graduation as second in his class, one arm slung around a much younger Shiro, whose short hair hadn’t yet started to go white with stress and space radiation. Shiro’s right arm rested low-slung around Adam’s waist, and he looked _so soft_ , while his left arm was around the shoulders of a dark-skinned pilot who only went by “Curtis,” who took the number-three spot. There was several other images on the page detailing what each of the top three graduates were currently up to, including updated images of Adam as an instructor in front of a packed classroom, Shiro beaming with hair grown out and standing in front of NASA’s logo in a black t-shirt with his prosthetic arm on full display, and Curtis standing confidently on the deck of an aircraft carrier with a team of people behind him.

Keith noticed a date. “Adam got married two years ago.” Huffing a sigh, he shook his head. “We’re prying, Lance.”

“Fuck. You’re right.” Closing the window, he rubbed at his face. “This just . . . there’s something not right about this whole thing. Shiro almost died. He’s got one of the worst cases of PTSD that I’ve ever been around, and he’s trying hard just to be _normal_ in some way. I want to help him, but I also want to just . . . spoil him.”

Keith, who attended a Boston-area university, felt jealousy rip its head up and he _firmly_ told that part of himself to back the fuck down. Lance _loved_ Miami and the school he was going to. He was close to his family and saved some money by living with his brother and sister-in-law and their kids. He and Lance weren’t able to spend much time around each other because of the distance, and so they were often very open about their relationship and their physical needs. He’d taken people to bed just like Lance had, they’d told each other about it well in advance in case the other person wasn’t okay with the arrangement. It wasn’t perfect, they sometimes argued, but it was a system that still worked for them. They hadn’t anticipated finding someone they wanted to court as their third, but in all reality, Shiro was perfect.

And that thought stopped Keith. _Shiro was perfect._

He smiled, and his heart settled. “If I’m going to be perfectly honest with myself, I think we started dating because we each reminded the other of our ‘ideal Shiro.’ And then we really fell in love with each other when we looked at how different the other person was from Shiro. I’m . . . I’m a little upset, I’m working through it, but . . . I think it’s mostly because you’re considering moving up here because of _him_ and not me.”

Lance’s face blanked out and he sighed, pulling up his personal email. Grabbing one headline in particular, he brought it up to show to Keith.

Now a lot closer to sober, Keith _still_ froze up at what he saw. “L-Lance?”

“I wanted to surprise you at the end of my trip.” Lance smiled softly. “I’m transferring to Northeastern for my fall semester, and wanted to . . . wanted to ask you if you wanted to move in together over the summer. I can’t stand being away from you, Keith.”

“You . . . absolute . . . _asshole_!” Keith was crying, shoving tears away from his face as fast as he could. “You don’t get to do this to me!”

“Yes I do,” Lance replied, voice soft and hands softer as they kept Keith from rubbing the tears away too hard and getting his face blotchy. “Because you’re my other half, you jerk. You’re why I want to move to the cold. Meeting Shiro . . . seeing how much I _still_ am crushing on the guy . . . yeah, that’s like the icing on the cake, but like, you? Keith, you’re _it_ for me. Shiro or no Shiro.”

“If you propose, I’ll kick your ass.”

Snorting, Lance kissed the pert nose. “I wouldn’t dare. Not in Allura’s house, and not before we’re graduated, if and _only_ if we want to get legally married. I just know that you’re my person.”

“And . . . if I wanted to add Shiro to _us_? If he wants us?”

“Well, I overheard the phrase, _‘the most active left hand in the greater Boston area thanks to BlueEyesRedDragon and Akira Orion,’_ so I think he might, just _might_ want us. Or at least he wants what he knows of us.” Lance traced Keith’s eyebrows with his thumbs, leaning in to kiss the frown between them away. “I’m not opposed to getting to know him better, to see what kind of subscriber he is. Until I can move up here, you’re going to be the most in contact with him, if he’s interested. Do you know that the store he owns is _literally_ right down the street from the MFA?”

“Date night tomorrow?”

“Date night tomorrow. Crash the store and drag him out for food?”

“Crash the store and drag him out for food. Are . . . are we okay, Lance? You and me?”

Lance answered that with a fierce kiss, shoving Keith back onto the bed and looming over him. “We’re very much okay.”

“Oh my god, I want to Scene with you _so hard_ tonight so I can wipe that smirk off your face.”

“You’re the _only_ Top I will kneel for,” Lance hissed into Keith’s ear. “You are the _only_ Top that I trust to not hurt me more than I need, to know my limits and bring me right up to them.” He paused, smiled, and slid to kneel between Keith’s knees, pressing his cheek to a firmly muscled thigh and just letting his blue eyes close. He felt Keith’s firm hand rake through the hair that he grew _just_ long enough to be grabbed, and felt something within him unwind and untangle itself a little.

Keith’s voice was soft as he sat up, curling over Lance’s head protectively. “Would you share me with another bottom? We both know that’s what he is. _Could_ you share me without feeling jealous?”

“Yes,” Lance breathed.

“Then we’ll ask him. But _later_. Not even on this trip up. Let’s just be friends with him, get to know _Takashi_.” Lance whined, and Keith grinned. “Yes, and maybe one day, he’ll let us call him by that name.” He paused, then leaned down to whisper, “I want you to imagine that I’m distracted with a new lover tonight. Yes or no.”

“Oh god yes,” Lance whispered. “Bratty? Need to be put in my place a little? Needy?”

“Yes,” Keith hissed, eyes trained on the clock. “Showtime, Blue Eyes.”


End file.
